Jealousy
by Jazz Funeral
Summary: BillJenny angstiness in the Five Points. IN PROGRESS.


Bill's eye twitched. Clouds were smeared across the moon, creating a ghostly effect in the quiet sky. Below the sky however, was the hustle and bustle of the common folk, ragtags and whatever else you might call the scum of the earth, in the midst of murderer's alley, otherwise known as the Five Points.

New York was a place of new beginnings. The Irish got off the ships coming from Ireland and tried to make a fresh start in a seemingly more bountiful place. There wasn't no honest way to make a livin' in New York. The women were prostitutes or thieves, the men belonged to gangs and robbed unsuspecting people. The rich and powerful owned whorehouses and dance halls, guaranteed to give you a good time. New York's night life was something everyone had a part in.

Everyone was out and about their business, the cats and bats were out, batting their eyes and smiling their crooked smiles, trying to make a livin'. The bludgets were also batting their eyes, but those girls had a different plan. Fires burned in the street and every once in a while you would have to lift your skirts and step over a dead body, white and cold. Young children smashed windows and set houses on fire as instructed by their masters, and the Bowery Boys stalked around, challenging anyone who dared to look them in the eye. Irish music was faintly heard among the cries of the wicked.

A house burned over the Forty Second street, the flames roaring into the black sky. Two thieves, both fighting for their bread, burst through the glass window into the roaring hot interior of the house. "You fuckin' addlecove! I'll kill ye, don't ye know," roared the first thief, promptly shoving the other into a burning beam. The unfortunate thief cried out in pain as the ember burned through his thick jacket and struck his rough skin. The other thief kicked him swiftly in the groin, leaving him writhing in the hot floor.

Bill was at the hall that night, his pipe hanging loosely from his lips, his seeing eye was fixed on Amsterdam, who was talking to Jenny, both drunk. His glass eye, embedded with the patriotic symbol of the eagle, was staring straight ahead, icy blue and colder than New York in the winter. It appeared to be fixated on a half-naked whore, who twirled her hair around her index finger seductively at Bill. But Bill paid no attention. He eyed Amsterdam, his shiny head tinted to one side. He was drunk too, but he could still think clearly.

Her had other things on his mind.

Amsterdam's eyes were glazed over from the liquor, his greasy hair hung limpy round his scruffy face. He was sitting next to Jenny, who was stroking his hair with a drunken smile on her pretty face. They laughed, and Amsterdam put his hand on her bare shoulder and they both laughed again, this time louder.

Bill's eye twitched while he looked at them. Rage settled in the pit of his stomach like bad meat. His lips curled around his pipe into a sneer. Jenny.

That stupid, sleazy whore. He had taken her in when she was little twelve year old street girl. Bill had noticed her red hair and gorgeous face first. He saw her begging in the streets often, but she never asked anything of him. Bill demanded one of his men to take her to his house. She struggled at first, but then was given hot soup and meat. That shut her up.

Jenny was fourteen when she asked Bill to make love to her. She had fallen in love with him, in a demented and twisted way. He was the only man in her life that truly cared about her. He didn't deny her anything. He taught her the best methods of pickpocketing. But, over time, their relationship changed. Bill began to bring women into the house, scads of them. He wasn't a one-woman man. Jenny felt insanely jealous, so she began whoring. Jenny and Bill never confronted one another. Jenny eventually moved out, but she still cared about Bill.

They just liked to tease one another. Sometimes it was brutal.

Amsterdam suddenly looked over at Bill, sensing his eye, and smiled a yellow smile. "Good evening Bill," Amsterdam shouted to him over the noise.

Bill's oil-black moustache stretched into a lopsided grin. He kept his head tilted, still staring. "Enjoying yourself, my young friend?" Bill growled, focussing his eye on Jenny. She had her head rested on Amsterdam's shoulder. She was passed out.

"She's out," Amsterdam motioned to Jenny, whose head rolled as Amsterdam tried to straighten her up. Amsterdam chuckled. "She sure can suck that whiskey dry."

"Oh, that's not all she can suck, my dear friend," Bill gave Amsterdam a knowing smile. Amsterdam stared at Bill, and then his face changed into a small smile.

"Well I guess I'll find out," Amsterdam thought better of it. "If.that's okay with you, Bill."

Bill knew Jenny had fucked probably everybody in the Points. But Amsterdam was different.

Bill knew who Amsterdam was. The son of the man he most respected and admired. The son of the man whom he had struck down sixteen years ago. Preist Vallon, the only honorable man Bill had ever killed.

He honestly didn't give a shit if she fucked any other man. But Amsterdam Vallon, anyone with that name must not have any contact with Jenny. It was too close for comfort. There was a jealous side of Bill, and when it came out.

It exploded.


End file.
